The Fairest Place on Earth.. - William Wordsworth

Home to The Beatles and The Pink Floyd. To Charles Darwin,William Shakespeare and Lord Byron. To Wordsworth, Jane Austen and William Byrd. To Issac Newton and Captain James Cook. And that is to name a few..

The pints of cider just taste better out here and the smiles seem more genuine. The Sun more guarded. The moors greener. The air more crisp. The sheep look up startled. While the ducks simply mock at tourists in wooden punts.
The unspoilt English countryside. Just as I had imagined it would be.
We gratefully took the opportunity to take a load off and escape the chaos of routine life. Destination - Lancaster and The Lake District,including Grasmere,Windermere and Ambleside.
I relaxed completely(for a change!), lazed around, ate lovely home cooked meals(including tandoori chicken,chicken sausage kathi rolls and phuchka, no less!!) and spent a fair amount of time letting my shoulders unknot the prior weeks of tension.
There's so much to tell. Ingrained in my mind is the image of a family reading,eating or watching t.v, while curled up near a heat convector, tossing ideas of life plans into the mix and stretching out like cats. And all along,a little bundle of joy purring contently in his rocker, occasionally looks up and smiles.
Amidst all this, we also managed to wander around the countryside from one leisurely activity to the next, with a strict "no-planned-fun" policy.
One August afternoon post-lunch, we headed out towards the countryside. A tad too often I did think of buying a pair of Wellies(Kate Moss style,no less).But promptly let go of the idea for fear of outrightly appalling The G and his family! A perfect day in August. To a perfect place for repose. With perfect company.

The trip was splendid. An endless patchwork of fields, moors and dales, with an occasional break for a tiny little wooden fence.
Green,rambling hills stretching endlessly. Old stone cottages, skittish rabbits. Rambling rose bushes. Feisty roosters. Random sheep wandering about,alongside the narrow winding roads and rustic footpaths. The sights and sounds yet untouched by the passage of time.
Farmers still building wood and stone pasture walls by hand, years of history in each perfectly placed rounded rock. Here time stands still and the pace is relaxed.
We took a walk through the Grasmere village. Over wooden bridges and stoned pathways.Where you look over your shoulders every now and then,expecting to see a horse-drawn buggy. And you almost do. A unique mosaic of lakes, tarns and rivers, linked by wooden bridges. Houses with finishes of lime wash and distinct use of granite,sandstone or limestone for details. Rose bushes creeping up on the moss-covered stony walls in unexpected warmth. And bushy hedegrows fiercely guarding the little cottages. Walking across the fells or climbing their crags felt strangely liberating. Like I was free to breathe again.
The walk took us to the burial sites of Wordsworth and his family. And I wondered if the great poet actually layeth below!
Also worth mentioning is a Wishing Well in the centre of the village. Where I was so taken in, craning my neck and peering inside the cold,stony walls of the well, that while backing of,I bumped into an old farmer on his evening walk and profusely apologized to his unsuspecting dog!
We also walked by the Dove Cottage - where Wordsworth spent a large chunk of his professional life. Easy to see exactly what brought out the poet in him! By the way, has anyone read 'Dorothy Wordsworth`s Grasmere Journal'?
It eloquently describes her life in the Lake District along with her brother William Wordsworth. And I`ve heard its a must-read.
So anyway, we were warmly welcomed by most people and sized up by awkward glances from the locals every now and then. Slowly as the spirit of the countryside seeped into each one of us, we gave up on etiquette and the cheesy jokes began to fly back and forth. But somewhere amidst all the euphoria, I sensed a little something tug at my heart. A feeling so empty.Yet it weighed down on me. Something so intangible that I couldnt really grasp it. Yet it continued to disquiet me with its blue fangs. And as we drove back home into the sunset, it suddenly became clear. I miss our home, The G`s and mine. I so miss the ease of mind that comes from familiarity and routine. And so, no matter how splendid the journey or how fair the destination, I just cant wait to get back home..